


The Grass is Always Greener

by orphan_account



Series: #FairGameWeek2020 [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Fair Game Week (RWBY), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Qrow first heard they’d be working closely with Ironwood’s favorite operatives, he had been quite far from thrilled. After getting repeatedly paired up with their lucky leader, though, he had to admit that his distaste was giving way to... fondness?That said, ending up trapped in a tunnel with said operative still wasn't all that high on Qrow's to-do list.Well, on the bright side, it seems like the perfect opportunity to have a serious talk about the one point of friction in their relationship so far: their semblances.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: #FairGameWeek2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666546
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	The Grass is Always Greener

**Author's Note:**

> #FairGameWeek2020 - Day 1: Semblances
> 
> This isn't the most romantic fic I have planned this week (have patience! those are definitely coming), but I thought it would be a good opportunity to dump some of my Clover headcanons and start to address some of the more complicated facets of their relationship.

The weeks following their arrival in Mantle (and subsequently Atlas) had not gone exactly as Qrow had imagined.

For one thing, when he first heard they’d be working closely with Ironwood’s favorite operatives, the ones on the highest tip of the pyramid of haughty Atlesian soldiers, Qrow had been quite far from thrilled.

As the days rolled by, though, he found his distaste quickly vanishing in favor of curiosity, and eventually fondness, mostly for one Ace-Op in particular.

Clover managed to, somehow, simultaneously be both exactly what Qrow expected from a high-ranking Atlesian officer, and nothing at all like what he expected from one. And the closer they got, the more Qrow saw him as the latter.

Their relationship was comfortably casual in a way that suggested they’d known each other for years already. Qrow couldn’t decide if he reveled in it, or if he felt a bit like he’d been thrown off a flying airship and left completely out of his depth.

He thought that that, too, was probably a case of being a bit of both. The lighthearted flirting and warm gazes they’d been sharing had been undeniably nice, but Qrow couldn’t ignore the way it scared him, either. Getting close to others had seldom worked out for him in the past.

Still, things between him and Clover weren’t quite perfect, either. One small detail stood in their way. It wouldn’t be a glaring issue to most people, but to someone like Qrow, it cropped up constantly, and wasn’t something he could bring himself to just look past.

Their semblances. _Clover’s_ semblance.

Good luck.

When Qrow had first heard about it, it had initially felt like a gut punch. All he could focus on was everything that Clover had that he didn’t—that he _couldn’t_.

He told himself that they were paired together so frequently so that Clover’s semblance could counteract his. He had to sit back and watch as, time and time again, Clover made a miraculous dodge, or he managed to snag Kingfisher’s hook on an unlikely target, or he caught a fumbled scroll, or he won twenty games of chance in a row, or _this_ , or _that_ … And it was admittedly somewhat tiring. The fear of inferiority followed Qrow like a fog, hiding just past the periphery of his vision or lurking in every shadow he cast.

So, when he and Clover were sent to complete a routine patrol through the abandoned mine shaft being used as the launch site for the Amity Communications Tower, he picked up on every dash of luck thrown Clover’s way.

After the third such instance occurred, Qrow’s tongue got ahead of his brain, and he said aloud, “Must be nice.”

Perhaps it was an innocent enough statement. Qrow certainly hadn’t meant much by it. If there were even faint traces of resentment, they were overshadowed by the much more obvious sense of longing the words evoked.

So he was surprised when Clover seemed to falter after hearing them. It was a subtle, brief stutter in his otherwise confident and smooth gait. His shoulders tensed, just for a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly downwards before he swallowed hard and schooled his expression back into one of neutrality.

Then he gave a slight chuckle, but over the last few weeks, his laughter had become a sound that Qrow enjoyed and even sought out—and what came out of Clover’s throat then was strained in a way Qrow hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah,” Clover agreed. “I can’t really complain.”

Qrow’s eyebrows drew together and his pace slowed to a halt. Clover, either unaware or uncaring, continued walking ahead. Qrow’s frown deepened.

“Uh,” he started, once it became clear that Clover had no intention of stopping. “Am I wrong?”

Clover paused at that and glanced over his shoulder with another too-broad smile. “No, of course not. My semblance has never—” He cut himself off, mouth warping into what was almost a grimace, though the expression was gone again almost before Qrow could process it. After a moment, Clover settled on saying, “It’s given me countless, incredible opportunities. I shouldn’t complain.”

 _“Shouldn’t” that time_ , Qrow noted. _Not “can’t.”_

Before he could say anything else, though, Qrow was distracted by the feeling of something small bouncing off the top of his head. He glanced up out of instinct, only for a second pebble to hit his nose. The impact didn’t hurt, but the surprise of it still made him flinch. The rocks above Qrow shuddered slightly, causing a few more bits of earth to fall from what appeared to be a large, old crack splintering across the top of the cave. The tunnel went quiet and still for a long moment afterwards, both Qrow and Clover’s gazes fixed on the rocks above, and as the seconds ticked by, it looked more and more like a fluke.

Until, very abruptly, it didn’t.

A deep rumbling sound rolled out of the cave walls, intense enough to make the ground beneath them vibrate and shake. In an instant, Clover unfurled Kingfisher, and with a precise flick of his arm, he sent the hook flying towards Qrow. The cord curled around Qrow’s wrist once, twice, three times over, and once the hook had locked into place, Clover yanked him forward, pulling Qrow out of the way just as larger chunks of rock began to tumble from above him.

“We need to move,” Clover said, previous wistfulness abandoned in favor of the pragmatic, authoritative tone he always seemed to take on while fulfilling the role of an Ace-Op.

“You think?” Qrow shot back, unwrapping the cord from around his wrist and ushering Clover forward at the same time.

They didn’t make it very far before Qrow’s hand shot out to Clover’s arm again, this time pulling him to a stop. Clover threw him a bewildered look, but Qrow nodded to a point ahead of them, where a more earthy portion of the ceiling dipped down ominously, as if a lot of pressure was pushing on it from above.

Sure enough, the rumbling around them increased tenfold, and the cave ahead of them began to crumble as well. Thick clouds of dust rose up around the pair as falling rocks stirred up the ground around them, and any light trailing in from the end of the tunnel faded away as dirt sealed them inside.

When the dust settled, the two of them were left in a stretch of the tunnel about a dozen meters long. Rocks and dirt were piled up on either end, shutting them in and offering no escape route.

Clover coughed and brushed stray earth from his uniform. “You alright?” he asked, turning to face Qrow, who was bent forward with his hands on his knees as he coughed as well.

“Cut that one a bit close,” Qrow replied, pushing himself back up to his full height. He sighed as his gaze passed over the fallen rocks. “I’m okay. We should—”

He broke off with a startled noise as Clover’s hand brushed his own. The hand closed around his wrist with a surprisingly gentle touch and lifted it up so that Clover could assess it more closely.

Clover’s fingers just barely ghosted along the fresh, slightly reddened indents along Qrow’s wrist from where Kingfisher’s wire had dug in. It hadn’t quite broken the skin, but Clover still brushed his thumb over the lines with an unexpected level of tenderness.

“Sorry for pulling you like that,” Clover said, finally releasing his hand. “You didn’t look like you were moving, and, well…” He glanced at the cave-in behind them.

“Uh… Yeah.” Qrow, only just then registering the residual stinging around his wrist (or was it just tingling from where Clover had touched it?), rubbed it with his other hand. “Thanks, by the way.”

Clover shrugged with a smile. “Hey, what are teammates for?”

Qrow’s expression soured at that—Clover’s persistent attempts at getting him to change his mind about preferring to work alone were getting a bit old—but he chose not to reply, instead walking over to the rocks and running his hand along the newly-formed wall with a frown. Unsurprisingly, nothing changed beneath his feather-light touch. Their path was, in fact, still blocked.

Clover moved to stand next to him, biting his lip thoughtfully as he considered the blockage. “Is it the work of another Geist, you think?”

“Doubt it.” Qrow sighed, dropping his hand back to his side and clenching both into fists. “I’m sure it was me. Always is.”

Clover shot him a look. “Don’t say that,” he scolded, before turning back towards the wall and pressing a finger against his earpiece. “Alpha checking in. There’s been a cave-in. Qrow and I are uninjured, but we’ll likely need some excavation assistance…”

Qrow tuned him out as he went on to give their support team additional details. He looked down at his hands, a sick guilt twisting low in his gut.

 _Don’t say that_. How could he not? This always happened when he was around.

“Qrow.”

He looked up at the sound of his name, right into the teal eyes of Clover.

“Stop that,” Clover said. “I told you, this wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly _help_ matters.”

“Would you _quit_ already?” Clover snapped, brow furrowing with concern. “Sometimes bad things just happen. It would be impossible for you to cause them all.”

Qrow shifted his weight from one foot to the other and averted his gaze. Most people let the comments he made about himself under his breath slide, likely because they agreed with him, deep down. He certainly wasn’t used to people calling him out on it.

But then, an ugly anger rose up within him. _Sometimes bad things just happen_. How many times had he heard that one? He’d wanted to believe people the first few times. But there came a point when he had to accept reality. It wasn’t wrong that bad things just happened sometimes, but it _was_ wrong to say that when Qrow’s presence was involved. There was no “sometimes” about it. It was no longer a coincidence. He’d lived with it for his entire life, and he’d seen the consequences of his mere existence firsthand, time and time again.

Of course Clover couldn’t understand that. He was the exact opposite. Everything _good_ in life could be attributed to him, couldn’t it? What could he know about constantly being blamed for errors and accidents? He’d probably never heard anything but praise.

…Deep down, Qrow already knew that was wrong. But jealousy and longing twisted beneath his skin, and every loss he’d faced in life stared back at him with accusatory eyes. From the moment he’d learned of Clover’s semblance, he couldn’t keep himself from wandering down the branching paths of “what if”s, like _what if I’d had good luck instead of bad when_ … and performing the mental acrobatics necessary to explain how everything he’d ever had to grieve could have survived if he’d just had a different semblance.

“Look,” Qrow started, shaking himself from his musings, “I get that you’re probably used to everything going perfectly, so maybe you’re willing to write this one off as just bad luck. But that’s the thing. I _am_ bad luck. I _am_ coincidence. Bad things don’t happen to me. I happen to other people.”

“…You can’t be serious.” Clover stared at him. “Qrow, you have to realize that’s a really unhealthy mindset, right? Old mines cave in all the time. Two completely different people could’ve been on this mission instead of us—instead of _you_ —and this still would’ve happened.” He shook his head. “You’re bad luck? That’s like saying everything good that happens around me or to me is because of my semblance, too.”

“Isn't it?”

Hurt flashed across Clover’s face, sending a stab of regret through Qrow’s chest. It was the exact thing he dreaded hearing from other people—even if it was true, and in Clover’s case, even if it was _good_ , maybe Qrow shouldn’t have been the one to say it. Being reduced to his semblance never felt great. He’d just gotten so used to it at that point that he’d been doing it to himself for years, and now to Clover.

But at the same time, shouldn’t it feel good to know that your existence brought good fortune to others?

Clover glanced away first. “I should hope not,” he said. “Leader of the Ace-Ops, only in that position because he’s lucky?”

And _oh_ , Qrow hadn’t thought of it that way. But the speed with which Clover responded… Qrow could only assume that the other man had heard that countless times throughout his life. That… wouldn’t feel good, after all. That _would_ sting.

“That’s not what I meant.” Qrow pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just… You can’t deny that your semblance has helped you out a hell of a lot more than mine has helped me. You can only benefit the people around you, and I…” Bitterness rose in his throat. “I can only hurt them.”

Qrow turned away and went over to the side of the tunnel. He pressed his back against the wall and sank to the ground with a sigh. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Clover sat down next to him.

“My semblance isn’t… _better_ than yours, Qrow,” Clover said, frowning at him. “ _I’m_ … not better than you.”

Qrow couldn’t help himself—a huff of broken laughter ripped out of his chest, the sound humorless and hollow. “I’m pretty sure good luck beats bad luck,” he replied, voice tight. “And I’ve got forty years of experience to back that up.”

Clover pursed his lips together and drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh. After a moment of silence, he looked away from Qrow and leaned his head back against the wall. He seemed… tired, all of a sudden.

“When I was promoted to the Ace-Ops, do you know what people said?” he asked.

“Uh.” Qrow blinked. He thought he might, now, but he didn’t want to say it, so instead he went for, “Congratulations?”

Some of the tension lifted as Clover’s lips twitched upwards into a faint smile. “Okay, yeah, some,” he admitted. After a pause, his smile faded. “But not everyone. All my life, any time I accomplished anything, big or small, there were always a few… A few who would tell me I didn’t deserve it. No skill. Just luck.”

And there it was. “That’s not—”

“It’s not true, right?” Clover turned to look at him again, expression soft but tone firm. “I know that now. But back then, I wasn’t so sure. I thought, maybe they’re right. Maybe I didn’t earn my place here. Maybe it’s all just luck after all.”

Qrow frowned and opened his mouth like he wanted to dispute the point again, but before he could, Clover lifted a hand.

“Over time, though,” he continued with a small smile, “I realized that my semblance didn’t define me. I fought my way to the top and I earned my place here, just like all the rest of my colleagues.”

“Well… yeah,” said Qrow, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good luck can only get you so far.”

Clover stared at him for a minute—Qrow could almost see the gears turning in his head, or perhaps they were stuttering to a confused halt—and then he shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. “You think so?”

…It was true, wasn’t it? If somebody really lucky and somebody really skilled went up against each other, then eventually, the guy with skill would win, because skill was more consistent than luck. So why was Clover looking at him like he’d grown a second head? Hadn’t he just been saying the same thing himself?

“I mean, yeah?” Qrow responded after a moment. “Luck isn’t a guarantee.”

Clover leaned closer to Qrow with an intense, searching depth to his teal eyes. “Then why,” he asked slowly, “do you want it so bad?”

Qrow blinked, and though his lips parted, no words came out. A beat passed, and all he could get out was a quiet and confused, “What?”

“You bring up our semblances a lot,” Clover pointed out. “I just can’t help but notice that you can get a little hypocritical about them. You say I’m more than good luck, but you’re not more than bad luck? That my semblance doesn’t define me, but yours does? How does that make sense? You can’t have it both ways. We’re _both_ more than our semblances, Qrow.”

“No, I…” Qrow frowned, eyes clouding over as he scrambled for a solid line of reasoning. “I just told you. My semblance hurts the people I care about. Yours doesn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Clover asked.

“I—” Qrow furrowed his brow. “How could it?”

“Well…” Clover tilted his head to one side, contemplative. “Think about it this way. You told me once that your semblance is useful in a fight, right?”

“That’s about the _only_ time it’s useful, yeah,” Qrow confirmed, lips twisting down into a scowl. “When I bring misfortune to my enemies.”

“And if that’s where _your_ semblance _shines_ …”

Qrow squinted at him, unsure of what he was getting at, but after a pause, the confusion drained out of his face. “You—Oh. _Your_ semblance…”

Clover nodded, his mouth set in a firm but not unkind line. “Bringing good luck to my enemies isn’t exactly what I’d call useful. It’s actually been…” He hesitated, eyes flicking away from Qrow’s face. “…pretty detrimental, in the past.”

“But not anymore?”

Clover took a breath. “Not usually,” he confirmed. “I’ve got a better handle on it now than I used to. And, well, if I can control mine, then…”

“Then you think I can, too,” Qrow finished for him.

Clover gave an affirmative hum. “I don’t see why not. It would at least be worth a try, don’t you think?”

 _Worth a try_ , huh?

Even after the terrible claims Qrow had tried to make, Clover was still looking at him with a soft, genuine expression. He was earnest in a way that urged Qrow to agree with him on most things—not irritating or naïve, but someone who truly wanted to see others succeed and improve. And, based on what he’d said, that came from a place of personal experience.

...How was he supposed to say no to a face like that?


End file.
